Memoirs of a Prussian Defence
by comptine
Summary: If Gilbert was ever going to write a personal memoir, this is exactly where he would start. With a concerned Canadian standing over him, an angry Brit yelling from the stands and his voice utterly gone.
1. In Which Gilbert Mourns a Pink Umbrella

**--Memoirs of a Prussian Defence--**

_In Which Gilbert Mourns a Pink Umbrella_

-and comes out of the closet-

If Gilbert was ever going to write a personal memoir, this is exactly where he would start. With a concerned Canadian standing over him, an angry Brit yelling from the stands and his voice utterly gone.

The events leading up to this did not happen in Risqué, nor did they involve anything to do with that restaurant. Rather with Gilbert falling in love. And it wasn't with himself. Yes, as much as the Prussian enjoyed his own dashing good looks, lively personality and general awesomeness, for the first time in seventeen-and-a-bit years someone other than his reflection had caught his eye.

"You know… Matthew's kind of cute." Now, out of all the people Gilbert could've revealed this to, Arthur Kirkland (who was very protective of his two cousins) was probably not the wisest choice.

"Say one more word if you want this guitar rammed up your ass." Arthur said, in a surprisingly off-handed sort of way. Which only made the comment in itself scarier. When Arthur was being loud and angry, Gilbert could ignore him; but when he was being quiet and casual, Gilbert was on guard.

The Prussian sunk a little deeper into his beanbag chair. "Hey, chill, chill." He said raising his hands and if to ward off the half-glare Arthur was sending him. "I was just saying."

Arthur plucked a string on his guitar, holding it to his head and listening to the tone. "You do realize what you said, right?" he asked, a half-smirk playing on his lips. This still didn't spell good news for Gilbert. How was that guitar even going to fit?

"Yeah," The Prussian said, "I said that Matthew's kinda cute."

Snorting Arthur played a twangy melody on his guitar absently. "Interesting. Now, just how long have you found yourself attracted to men?"

There was a strangled cry. "Oh _shit_."

"Oh shit is right."

Gilbert was clutching his hair, pacing in front of the Brit. "Oh my God… I like men…"

"Plus it's my bloody cousin," Arthur added in, rather unhelpfully, "And if you date him I'll be forced to kick your ass. Just telling you ahead of time."

"Artie! Can you at least pretend to be sorry!? I just came out of the closet!"

A snort. "More like exploded out of it with fucking trumpets fanfaring and girls dancing," Arthur sat up, laughing, "But more like Eddie Izzard!"

"ARTHUR!" The Prussian shook him violently, "Life-crisis! Here! Now! Me! Your best friend! Pay! Attention! And stop mocking me!"

Arthur shoved Gilbert away. "Alright, alright! Keep your wig on." Still chuckling, he slipped his guitar off, placing it on a stand, placing the heel of his right shoe on his left knee, foot tapping to the melody he wasn't playing. Stupid idiot. Playing music on his leg. "So you're a gay."

At that moment, Ludwig walked into the room, holding a tray of drinks (tea for the Britcoffee for Lud and lemonade for Gilbert) "Uh…" The German's cheeks were a light pink, "Bad time?" He asked weakly.

"Bad time. GTFO Lud, I'm trying to figure out my sexual identity and I don't want you listening!" Putting the tray down on an amp, picking up the mug of coffee, Ludwig turned on his heel and left. "Goddammit!" Gilbert cried; sinking to his knees near the tray, "You forgot the umbrella-" He stopped.

Arthur was grinning.

"Oh _God_. I am a gay…"

"That," Arthur said, standing up and walking over, picking up the tea, "Or you just happen to like fruity drinks." He sipped it, staring down at the mournful Gilbert.

Dejectedly, Gilbert picked up the lemonade drinking it. "This sucks." He sighed, "And now I can't even say that…"

Walking back over to his chair, Arthur plopped down, still stiff-upper lip about the situation (he was actually remembering every moment for Gilbert's wedding day as it would make an amazing speech _especially_ if he was marrying a woman). "It does suck. Maybe it's just-"

"You should be giving me advice." The Prussian said suddenly, fixing Arthur with a wild, slightly crazed stare. "Y-You know about this stuff!"

Arthur laughed nervously. "No I don't."

"You do!" Gilbert crawled over to him, "Y-You kissed that French chef! You know about this stuff! Artie, Arthur…" he was almost pleading.

Cheeks pink, Arthur looked away. "I was drunk." He said quietly.

"Drunk enough to let a guy eat for face off for five minutes?"

"…Yes."

"Whatever," Gilbert said, "Help me."

"No. You want to date my cousin for Christ's sake. And the normal one to boot!" Arthur said, standing up and stalking away from Gilbert, finishing his tea and putting it on the tray, "I'm going home, you can google this shit, you don't need me."

The singer swallowed. "I don't want to google gay."

"Google gay…" Arthur hummed absently, "Good song lyric."

"When exactly did you stop taking me seriously?" Gilbert snapped.

Arthur picked up his guitar, zipping it into a black case. "Around the time where you were telling me my cousin was cute and you wanted to stick your prick in him."

"I DIDN'T SAY THAT. I JUST SAID HE WAS CUTE."

The Brit slipped on his coat. "And that you want to be the butter knife to his muffin." He wrapped a tartan scarf around his neck, nuzzling into the rough wool. "Listen, Gilbert, I'm seriously not the guy you should be talking to."

"But you've kissed a guy!" Gilbert countered, grabbing onto the Brit's sleeve, "C'mon Artie… this is so un-awesome."

"That doesn't matter!" Arthur said, pulling his arm away and picking up his guitar. "So you're a gay! Get over it, move to San Francisco and fucking wear a banana thong, like I even care-"

There was a sniffle.

"Oh Christ…" Arthur rubbed his forehead, not looking around. "Gilbert, don't do this…"

"B-But…" Another sniff, "A-Artie, you're my bestest friend ever…"

Breaking, the Brit looked around. Gilbert was looking more pathetic than usual. Despite his claims to manliness, the Prussian sure pulled off Bambi well. "Fine!" Arthur said, starting to climb the stairs out of the basement, Gilbert in tow.

"Yes!" Gilbert said, grinning and completely un-Disney anymore, "Teach me Artie!"

Stopping at the door, the Brit sighed. "Listen, if you really want to be with Matthew, you're going to have to start spending some time with him." Arthur opened the door, stepping outside. "I'm not saying anything else. See you tomorrow."

The Prussian returned to the basement, flopping down on a beanbag, still drinking his lemonade. Spend more time with Matthew… he only ever saw the Canadian during class. He thought hard, what else did Matthew do? American Football? No, that was his brother -man he'd had to make sure to not get them mixed up. Awkward much?

As this thought went through his head, Gilbert squirmed, rolling around and groaning weakly. There much be something, no, _had_ to be something. And preferably something that wouldn't have Arthur breathing down their necks at all times. Gilbert's mind thought harder. He was Canadian and a young man, what would be do in spare time?

The answer hit him in a brilliant ray of this-is-going-to-be-a-stupid-idea. Matthew was the captain of two teams in the school. He didn't know anything about lacrosse besides the fact that it had big sticks and lots of tackling, neither of which he was really into. So that only left one thing.

"Hockey!" Gilbert said, "I'll join the hockey team!"

* * *

**Author's Note**

Uhoh, _Date Plan_ narration kept sneaking in here~ My English teacher wanted me to work on dialogue. So I did. Also trying a less-planning, more seat-of-the-pants approach to this story. We'll see how that goes.


	2. In Which Gilbert Eats a Cherry

_In Which Gilbert Eats a Cherry Suggestively_

-and considers the mechanics of rollerblades on Mars-

"You… want to join the hockey team?"

There were a number of things Gilbert first expected to hear come out of the blond's mouth when he would first inform that he wanted to join the hockey team. (His favourite by far was "_Kiss you wild and magnificent stallion of a man_.")

He eased back into the booth in the corner of Risqué, nodding at the Canadian. "I do! You know, pass the biscuit, cross-checking and hat tricks!" Thank God Wikipedia had a list of hockey terms. Gilbert was going to fit right in.

Matthew sighed a little, fidgeting with his glasses. "Well have you ever skated?"

"Of course!" On roller blades. Once. When he was five. And drunk because he had slipped from alcohol from his dad's stock out of curiosity. And he was on Mars. Okay, maybe not the last bit.

Matthew still looked apprehensive and he was biting his lip in an adorable way while his fingers tugged nervously at each other from within his over-big sleeves of his hoodie. (You know that hoodie looks good on you, it'd look even better on my bedroom floor.) "I suppose you have t-the right to tryout-"

A hand on the Canadian's shoulder cut him off. "Mattie, dear, dear, Mattie, my _favourite normal _cousin_._" Arthur said asked sweetly, appearing out of nowhere, "Can I get you another drink~?"

Gilbert glared up at Arthur. Leave it to the Brit to be the hovering cockblock. Not like they were at Risqué so Arthur could keep an eye on them between bringing food out from the kitchen and serving customers. Yao and Roderich both noticed an increase the work Arthur was doing, but decided better not to comment when the Englishman had such a look on his face. (One of pure, unadulterated rage.)

Matthew returned the smile with a small one of his own. "N-No that's alright Arthur."

"What about me?" Gilbert piped up, "I'm your best friend ever and I want another drink."

The guitarist turned to him, eyebrow raised. "What do I look like, the bartender?" and with that, he slipped back into the kitchen.

"You wish you did…" The Prussian muttered, glancing over at Feliks who was currently adjusting the low, conservative (almost scarily-so) ponytail he had, "Then you might actually get some action."

And, to Gilbert's great, great, _great_ surprise (so surprisingly that it took a minute for it to sink in), Matthew let out a laugh. He had a nice smile, but he kind of snorted when he laughed, but that in itself was cute. "A-Arthur? With long hair?" He asked, still chuckling.

"Yeah, this pigtails and a miniskirt!" Gilbert continued, not quite noticing that Matthew was laughing with him, not at him. "British bastard…"

The Canadian's giggles died down and he smiled a little more naturally and confidentially at Gilbert. Now he could actually see the resemblance between Matthew and Alfred, they both had addictive smiles. "Arthur in drag…" Matthew mused, "That'd be pretty funny…"

Now, dictating the fact that the world just loves stopping Gilbert when he's on a roll, he spat out, not really thinking. "But I would look better. I am more handsome after all."

"Eh?" Matthew said, his cheeks going pink and the smile fading.

Before Gilbert could correct his mistake, Arthur slammed a drink down on the table, smiling at the Prussian. "From Feliks." He grunted, " And it's too bad for you. You would've loved to see me in a skirt." And then he walked away again, mumbling something akin to _fucking shirtlifting poofter_.

"Uh…" Matthew got to his feet, bright red as he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder, fiddling with his glasses, "Listen, we're having a practice after school tomorrow. Y-You should stop by and I'll show you the ropes."

"That'd be awesome!" Gilbert piped up, his own pale cheeks slightly red. He needed to remedy this situation immediately before Matthew thought he was gay or something. Wait. He needed to remedy the situation immediately before Matthew thought he was a _crossdressing_ gay or something.

His eyes flicked to the drink and the single maraschino cherry sitting on top of the ice.

Arthur, meanwhile, was on his break and had his nose pressed against the small circular window of the swinging door that led between the kitchen and the dining area. He had to keep moving aside to let people in but he didn't care as long as he could keep an eye on his cousin and the singer, he'd be content.

"_Bonjour mon cochon Anglais…_" A voice muttered and immediately Francis appeared, grinning at Arthur from the other side of the glass, poking a fingernail against the glass. Stepping back out of shock, Arthur's hold on the door released and the chef was able to slid in without too much difficulty. "Arthur, what exactly are you doing?" he questioned.

Sniffing and turning his face to avoid the Frenchman's, Arthur stood on his tiptoes again, staring through the window. "If you must know, I'm staring on my little cousin and my bloody pervert of a best friend."

Francis raised an eyebrow before joining Arthur at the window, standing behind him so that his chest was against the back of the Briton's vest. A blush crept along Arthur's face and he found he couldn't shift away from the Frenchman or risk losing his view of Gilbert, who was currently picking up the cherry off his drink, placing it in his mouth.

"What the bloody hell…"

"Hm… 'e 'as good technique."

"He looks like he's constipated."

"Like your opinion even matters. You 'ave never pleasured a man, you would not know the skill required."

"I don't ever plan to. Sucking cocks are for people who like the crisp flavour 'creamy dill'."

Arthur paused, looking back as the pressure on his back disappeared. "Your humour is crass." Francis sniffed before turning on his heel and storming off.

The Brit didn't have time to wonder what exactly he has done wrong as his attention was currently being taken by the scene unfolding before him which consisted off Matthew's bright red face, Gilbert waving a hand in a tantalizing goodbye while his tongue ran over his lips.

Only once Matthew was far away did the guitarist slip out of the kitchen and begin strangling the singer. Francis watched from the back, smiling to himself. "Interesting…" he mused to himself, "Now do I prefer cherry or chips~?" laughing, he pushed the door open just in time with the ladle that flew out, catching Arthur in the forehead.

* * *

**Author's Note**

the entire creamy dill joke goes to a friend of mine. so worth the trouble I got to in class for laughing**  
**


	3. In Which Gilbert's Thick Skull Saves Him

_In Which Gilbert's Thick Skull Comes in Handy_

-and promises himself to never be the woman in a relationship-

If there was one thing Gilbert found he didn't enjoy, it was the cold. This steamed from a very unfortunate winter break in which he was forced to stay at Ivan Braginski's house with numerous other people because of a snowstorm raging outside. Leave it to the Russian to invite everyone over the one day there is a blizzard so strong all the roads were closed for two days.

While he sat cold, miserable and forced to play risk with Ivan and his creepy sisters while Ludwig was making attempts to save him, Gilbert had a lot of time to think. For someone so self-involved, this was almost a blessing (except he kept losing Europe to the Russian and it was starting to tick him off).

Gilbert realized that he hated the cold.

So why in the world did Matthew have to _like_ the cold? Bundled up (wife-beater- sweater, sweater, jacket, coat, thin gloves, mittens, hat, long underwear, pants and a scarf) he stood outside the arena, already freezing.

Ludwig got out of the sleek car, leaning on the room, pushing sunglasses into his hair, tapping a gloved finger against the outside contemplatively. "Are you sure you really want to do this?" he asked, "You don't even know how to skate."

"It can't be that hard." The Prussian said, waving a hand with difficulty because of his bulk, "Strap on blade and push self across ice. Hell, I bet our dog could do it."

"Blitz would never skate."

Gilbert lifted his hands, drawing a small square in the air around Ludwig's head. "That's your problem Luddy." He said quickly, "You're always thinkin' inside that little efficient box of yours. You need to be less German."

"But I was born in Berlin-"

His brother waved a cut, cutting him off. "No. Don't even deny it. Now, pick me up in an hour-and-a-half."

Ludwig sighed. "Am I just a ride to you?"

"No, sometimes you're a meal ticket." Gilbert grinned at him, slipping into the large recreation centre, looking around, wandering over to where he supposed the arena was. He peered in through a window, staring at the giant ring of ice. His breath fogged the glass and he pulled back, grinning at his own reflection. "Lookin' good." he said to himself. "Soon, Matthew Beilschmidt will be mine... or Gilbert Williams... Gilbert Beilschmidt-Wiliams... Matthew Williams-Beilschmidt?"

"Oh Gilbert!" He jumped, looking around to see six figures walking over to him, most wearing half of their uniform, sticks either around their shoulders or tucked against their sides, tapping against guarded-skates. Matthew was at the forefront, waving eagerly at the Prussian, "I'm glad you came! This is the rest of the team."

Gilbert nodded, recognizing most of the faces. "I'm Gilbert, you know that already though." His introduction got no laughs. It never did. He glanced at them, why were they all so… big?

Smiling nervously, Matthew led his team inside the arena, taking Gilbert's arm and sitting him down in the stands. "So, I'm Matthew and the captain and part of offence. Co-captain is Ivan, he's goalie," the big Russian waved a hand, smiling behind his cage mask, "The other two offence are Berwald and Matthias," The Dane and the Swede were on opposite sides of the line-up, Matthias grinning at him, Berwald merely nodding curtly, "And our defence is Li and Tobias." The two smallest players both blinked at Gilbert, not making any other motion towards him.

"You're all so quiet." Gilbert said, offering his famous grin, "Loosen up a bit, it's just a game."

There was a visible shift among the players, Ivan's smile twitching and Berwald's hand tightening around his stick. Matthew smiled weakly. "You guys go get warmed up, I'm going to find Gilbert a pair of skates."

Nodding, the team slowly gets onto the ice, though Berwald holds back a moment, long enough to grumble, "Y'u l'k r'dic'lo's." before skating out, starting to wrestle with Matthias almost at once. Ivan intervened quickly, patting both their heads fondly, shoving them away from each other while Li and Tobias slowly circled around each other, mumbling quietly.

Matthew pulled Gilbert into the locker-room, sighing heavily. "Sorry about that, eh?" he said, starting to rummage around for extra skates, in the lockers. "They're not that… cold usually."

"That was punny." The Prussian commented, "You're pretty funny Matthew." Compliments. Compliments were good.

A light tint of pink appeared on the blond's cheeks as he smiled. "I wasn't trying to be, honest. Try and be a little less… casual, they take this game seriously." He held out a pair of skates, the fabric looking a little decrepit around the toes. "These should fit you."

Plopping down on the bench, Gilbert pulled off his large furry boots, starting to tug on the skates, grunting in effort. "Do you take it seriously?" he questioned, bracing himself against the floor as he heaved the shoe.

"You could say that." Matthew said, still smiling, "I've always played it. A-And since I've been captain, we haven't lost a game s-so I guess I'm not bad at it either. I like it a lot. Really good rush, you're burning on the side, but your fingers and toes are freezing..." he stared off into the distance for a moment before shaking his head, face still a little pink.

Finally getting the skates on (which was really hard while trying to ignore the adorable blush Matthew had) Gilbert stood up, immediately starting to waver until the blond caught his flailing arms, steadying him. "This is weird…" he muttered, ankles shaking, trying to get used to the skates. "Like…"

"Walking on a blade?" Matthew supplied.

"Exactly!"

Smiling and letting Gilbert stand on his own, Matthew grabbed a stick, forcing it into Gilbert's hands, who immediately used it as balancing stick to keeping himself from falling flat on his face (like it would happen to him, but better safe than sorry). "You're right handed," he said, eying the Prussian, "And you'll need this." He pulled out a large, bright blue helmet, holding it out

"I don't need a helmet." Gilbert said, tapping a fist against his head, "Artie says I've got a thick skill anyway."

Matthew sighed. "You know that having a thick skull…" he trailed over, "Never mind, lets get you out on the ice." Carefully guiding the Prussian out of the locker-room, he opened the door to the ice, stepping on, blades sinking into the arena. "C'mon." he started to skate backwards, waiting for Gilbert.

Gilbert swallowed, trying to remind himself that this was going to be easy. He took a hesitant step onto the ice, skate slipping slightly but managing to stay under him. Swallowing his fear, he lurched onto the ice, gripping his hockey stick for dear life.

Seconds passed and he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Uh… Gilbert?" he opened his eyes, not realising he had closed them. Matthew's face was inches from his, peering concernedly, "Something wrong?"

"I'm alive…" Gilbert muttered to himself, "_Mien Gott…_ I'm ALIVE!" he raised his hockey stick in triumph, only to wobble on his feet violently until he put the stick back on the ice.

The Canadian was laughing. "Eager?" he asked, starting to skate in circles around the albino.

"Oh you have no idea."

Gilbert started out with a few laps around the arena, finding his 'ice legs' as it were. He watched the rest of the team; secretly looking for any competition he might have for Matthew. Now he had large stick to beat them off, which was awesome. But the Canadian was friendly with everyone, shouting as much encouragement as critique, eyes carefully observing his team. It was the loudest he had ever heard the blond raise his voice and it was actually kind of hot to see Matthew in control. Not that he'd hand it over if it ever went that far; Gilbert wasn't the woman. Ever.

Gliding over to him, Matthew was already a bit sweaty, hair sticking to his face. "Okay Glibert," he said, punching a large glove against his shoulder, "Let's get you trying out. I'm going to put you on offence in my place. You'll be centre, with Berwald on your right and Matthias on your left. Got it?"

"What… exactly am I supposed to do?" Gilbert asked, following Matthew to the middle of the arena.

A small black disk fell onto the ice in front of him. "Shoot the puck." The Canadian said. He was grinning that smile Gilbert has only come to associate with Arthur. Which usually meant he was about to be humiliated.

Ivan hulked down at the other end of the arena, skating around his net, banging his stick against the ice, humming to himself, raising a hand at Gilbert. The Prussian swallowed, looking to his sides, wishing he was a bit more bulky for once in his life -he liked lean and mean normally. Sighing and glancing at Matthew -who gave him a small thumbs-up of encouragement and made Gilbert's heart fall into his stomach- Gilbert gripped the stick determinedly. He could do this.

Testing out the puck in the curve of his hockey stick, he started forward, skating carefully, gaining more confidence with each stride. Maybe… he could actually do this without making an utter fool of himself. He came within a scoring distance and pulled his stick back, flicking it forward, the puck actually coming in contact and flying towards the net.

However, there was too much energy put in the swing and the Prussian over-balanced himself, falling backwards. The ice missed his ass and instead hit him on the head. There was a curse in Russian, a nasally laugh from Matthias and a shout of surprise from Matthew and then a whine of sound and then dark.

Man, hockey was _not_ easy.

Previous|Next

* * *

**Author's Note**

I so would've been writing more, but I've been watching Torchwood and Dr. Who while school has been murdering me in the face.

Tobias Ytterstad = Norway.


	4. In Which Gilbert Dies

_In Which Gilbert Dies_

-and discovers that Matthew would be a very pretty girl-

When Gilbert awoke it was to the machine monitoring his heartbeat flatlining. He sat up with a start, breathing hard, staring around. "Oh God, I'm dying!" He had so much to live for! So many nights to spend with Matthew! So many punches he still had to give to Ludwig! And he still owed Matthias five dollars! God wasn't this cruel; he was too awesome to die!

Arthur poked his head out from under the bed. "No, sorry." He said, the small pad that was supposed to be monitoring the Prussian's heartbeat on his hand. "I accidentally popped this off. You're not dying."

"How the fuck did you rip that off my chest!?" Gilbert struggled to sit up, looking around as Arthur randomly stuck the pad back on his skin, making the machine start to beep again. Just as he said this, his throat ran dry and he wheezed, coughing hard. "Oh my god…" he said, but no sound came from his mouth.

The Dane rolled over on a wheelchair, popping out of it, Converse squeaking slightly on the old tile of the hospital. "You lost your voice." He said, standing on Gilbert's other side, "Sucks to be you."

"_No shit_." But, as Matthias had just informed him, Gilbert's voice was not working. He fell back to the pillows, touching his neck carefully. This did suck. And not in the literal way.

"Don't worry." Arthur picked up his bag, rummaging in it, pulling out a small whiteboard and a marker. "I snagged this from the kitchen, then you can talk to use without wasting paper.

Taking the board carefully, Gilbert popped the cap off with his teeth, scribbling quietly. **So… how long have I been in the hospital?**

Arthur dragged a chair over while Matthias went back to his wheelchair, rolling back and forth. "Just a few hours. You collapsed this morning."

**Then why am I sick? I just hit my head, not my throat.**

"Well," Matthias said, tilting the chair back, balancing precariously. "Someone in the interim of you hitting your head and paramedics arriving, dumped an entire jug of water on your head. Water, plus cold, equals a sick you."

**What dick covered me in water?!**

Arthur shrugged. "Ivan says he did it. But Li and Tobias said that they did it. I didn't much of an answer from Berwald, but it's always the strong silent types you've got to keep your eye on." The Briton rubbed his nose thoughtfully; "You didn't exactly make a brilliant first impression on the team Gil."

The Prussian scowled, the side of his pale hand already covered in black from erasing so much. **I don't think I'm suited for hockey. I wasn't expecting it be so…** the marker paused **hockey-ish.**

"Hockey being hockey-ish?" Matthias said, laughing, "God forbid, eh Art?"

"Oh yeah," Arthur joined in quickly in the general mocking of Gilbert, "Utterly incomprehensible! That's like if hospitals were hospital-ish or, dare I say, idiots being idiot-ish!"

The two were laughing while Gilbert scowled. "I think you mean if idiots were Gilbert-ish!" Matthias said, chair bottom slapping back to the white tile as he almost fell backwards, only just manage to save himself.

**I hate you both.**

"Yeah, yeah." Arthur shifted, as the door opened. A tall, thin woman with short blond hair, her rather large cleavage barely subdued by her dull blue nurse' uniform, walked into the room, carrying a tray of food. "Hello nurse…" he let out a low whistle, then stopped, frowning, "Katya?"

The Ukrainian jumped slightly. "Arthur?" her soft eyes crinkled in a nervous smile, "What are you doing here?" she walked over, shaking slightly as she placed the food on Gilbert's lap, checking the machines.

"This is my friend-"

**I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt.** The Prussian scribbled quickly, offering a clean hand **Lead singer for The Pathetics.**

Katya shook it, smiling sweetly. "I remember now, you were a wonderful s-singer!" The Prussian appeared to have died from the pure innocence radiating from her smile, but the machine was still beeping so it was probably just more of a metaphorical thing than actual death.

Her other hand was quickly taken by the Dane, who grinned up at her, smiling and winking. "And I'm Mathias Køhler. Drummer, as you can probably see from my incredibly amazing arms."

"T-They are rather nice!" Katya peeped, obviously getting very flustered. "I-I have to check his charts, if you'll excuse me!" she let go over their hands, tripping slightly but managing to keep her balance by latching onto Arthur's arm. "I'm sorry!" she said, eyes bright as she stood, trembling, "I-I'm just so clumsy…"

Arthur smiled comfortingly. "It's fine," she slowly eased off his arm, "What are you doing here anyway?"

The woman took the charts from the end of Gilbert's bed, looking over them, still trembling a bit. "I-I'm training to become a nurse. B-But I can only get my training while I-Ivan is at hockey and Nataliya is spending time volunteering…" she put the chart back, calming slightly, "You look fine Gilbert. Y-You could leave this afternoon, y-you haven't a concussion o-or anything, but that cough of yours could use some drops, b-but you can just get that at the drug store."

**Thank you**. Gilbert smiled at her as she nodded quickly, waving a little at Arthur before leaving quickly.

Snatching the juice off of Gilbert's tray before he could grab it. "So, you see a pair of tits and then you just give up on my cousin?" he stabbed the straw into the top of the juicebox with a bit too much vigour for Gilbert's liking.

**It's not my fault she has a nice rack.** The red eyes glazed over slightly, starting to imagine. **Matthew would be cute girl…**

Matthias nodded while Arthur choked on the Fruit Medley. "She's had nice hair… soft eyes, a little body, but-"

**Supple. And really nice boobs.**

"Oh yeah, definitely. Perky, not too big, not too small."

Gilbert was writing something until a juicebox hit his head and Matthais fell ass-over-teakettle as Arthur kicked the wheelchair, tilting the chair back. "Can we _not_ talk about a female version of my cousin!?" he demanded, "Please!?"

**Fine.** Gilbert wiped a drop of juice form his cheek, looking incredible displeased. **What do you want to talk about then oh-so-holy one?**

"We need a bassist." Arthur informed said, smirking as Matthias flailed on the ground like a turtle caught on its back, "Seriously, we're missing that pounding baseline."

**Can't you play it?** Gilbert wrote.

Arthur rolled his eyes, casting Gilbert a disparaging look. "Oh yeah, I'll just play guitar with my right and bass with my left."

There was a pause in which the Prussian stared at Arthur. He picked up an apple on his tray, biting into it, although trying to look contemplative but in all relative he just looked like the cover of a bad vampire romance novel. Putting the fruit down, he picked up the white board, slowly writing. **Then what's the problem?**

"I was kidding you twit."

The Prussian directed the board to Matthias who was finally standing, brushing off his pants, glaring at Arthur and righting the wheelchair but staying standing this time. **What about Bernie?**

Laughing, the Dane shook his head, hooking thumbs into his jean pockets. "You really think my brother's going to be in a band with me? It took Matthew four weeks to convince him to play hockey with me." He explained, sitting at the foot of the bed, "Like he wants to spend anymore time with me. We're just step-brothers, doesn't mean we like each other."

**I am unimpressed.**

Arthur nodded, sitting on the other side of the bed, running a hand through his hair. "Join the club…. What are we going to do?"

There was a pressed silence in which each band member thought about this conundrum. In all reality, only Gilbert was thinking about the bass problem. Matthias' mind was still stuck on Katya, daydreaming about her bedside manner while Arthur's mind, as it often did whenever he was supposed to be thinking, dwelled on Francis.

Then Gilbert poked Arthur's arm, pulling him out a reverie involving the Frenchman's delicious cooking and a blindfold. He really needed a girlfriend. Badly. **There's a bass in the band room at school, figure out who it belongs to.**

Mathias and Arthur looked at each other. "Wow…" The Dance said finally, "That's not a bad idea actually."

**I know. I'm just awesome.**

"Cool _maybe_," Arthur said, smirking, "But considering you're the hospital after getting your ass kicked on the first day of practice, 'awesome' might be out of your reach." He got to his feet, "I'm going to work, Matthias, you'll have to go the school and stalk whatever poor sap happens to play bass."

The Dane looked affronted. "And what? I can't have a life?"

"I know you're just going to go smoke pot with Lars so I'm giving you a job." The Brit said, snatching up his bag, "Pick me up in work and then we'll come back later tonight when you're discharged."

Gilbert scowled. **Yes mom.**

**

* * *

**

**Author's Note**

I wrote this six hours ago and now have internet. yay for break~


	5. In Which Gilbert Almost Scores

_In Which Gilbert Almost Scores_

-and decides that his life is a terrible after-school special-

It was rather boring in the hospital without Arthur and Matthias there and Gilbert had given up most hope of doing anything exciting and had now resigned himself to watching soap operas on the small television in his room. He was currently wishing how his life was more like a soap opera.

Ludwig would be dead but not really and would return right in the middle Gilbert's wedding with Matthew at the same time that Alfred revealed that it was, in fact, he who had poisoned Arthur's tonic (but only because Ivan was holding blackmail on his time spent in China with Yao's younger sister Meili) thus putting the Brit into a coma from which only Francis, who was currently in Switzerland trying to find the magic moonflower that was the cure to Lucy's illness, could wake him up from.

Way less complicated.

There was a quiet knock at his door and Gilbert looked up, frowning, attention taken from the drama for a moment. "Come in!" he called, voice having recovered after an hour of resting and a glass of orange juice from Katya, putting the television on mute.

Matthew peeked inside, smiling weakly. "Hey," he said, nervously playing with the strap of his backpack, "I wanted to see how you were doing, make sure you weren't dead or anything."

"Well I'm not." Gilbert said, thumping his chest, "Clearly among the living."

Chuckling slightly, Matthew sat down in the chair Arthur had been occupying, sliding his backpack off his shoulder, a small bear charm jingling at the side. "I'm really sorry Gilbert, I mean… I wasn't expecting any of that to happen, but you did score! It was very… Bobby Orr-ish in a way… you kinda… tripped, well were tripped… after, you know what I mean?"

The Prussian blinked. "Bobby Orr?"

"Famous hockey player, he revolutionized the defence's part in a hockey game… scored a winning goal for Boston in the Stanley Cup finals and almost played for the Summit Series." Matthew said quickly.

Staring, Gilbert scratched his cheek awkwardly. "The… Stanley Cup?"

There was a pressed silence in which Matthew finally came to terms with the fact that Gilbert Beilschmidt knew nothing about hockey, Gilbert finally came to terms with the fact that he knew nothing about hockey and it was seriously hurting his chances with Matthew and on the television the long-lost brother had just shot the chaplain to stop the wedding between his sister and the murder.

"The Stanley Cup is awarded to whoever wins the playoffs in the NHL."

"NHL?" Gilbert had quickly become a fan of the no-such-thing-as-a-stupid-question philosophy.

Matthew rubbed his eye behind his glasses. "National Hockey League, made up of teams from America and Canada and-" Gilbert had opened his mouth again but the Canadian cut across him, "no, the Summit Series wasn't part of the NHL."

Promptly shutting his mouth, Gilbert fiddled with the edge of his blanket while Matthew took the moment to become utterly engrossed with his knees. "Uh…" he said, causing the blond to jump slightly, "You can go home if you want, thanks for coming to see me."

Shaking his head, Matthew pulled his backpack onto his lap. "No, I'll stay. I-I do have to get some homework done. Plus someone needs to watch you until this afternoon, Arthur texted me."

"Oh," Gilbert frowned, "that was… nice of him."

"It was." The Canadian slipped an iPod out of his bag, untangling the small headphones, "I'll leave you to your stories, and I wouldn't want to interrupt." He placed the buds in his ears, snagging a textbook up, opening it along with a notebook, and starting to flip through pages, humming to himself.

Gilbert looked back at the television, trying to watch but Matthew's tongue stuck out in concentration, his fingers tucking his hair behind his ear and the absolute adorable way he was humming off-key was way too cotton-pickin' cute to stare at.

Finally, he sat up, turning off the television. "So…" Matthew looked up, pulling out one of his headphones, "What are you listening to?"

"J-Just some stuff, you wouldn't like it-" The Canadian said quickly, "So, know anything about stoichiometry? I-I'm having some trouble-"

Gilbert shook his head. "I suck at chemistry, dropped it. So, c'mon Mattie, lemmie see! I wanna know what you listen to." So that if they ever broke up Gilbert would know exactly what to play outside his house on his boombox in the rain and a heavy leather coat.

Hesitating for a moment, Matthew handed over the iPod and the tangle of earbuds. Gilbert stuck the headphones in his ears (oh God they were _sharing headphones_ like a _real couple_ (not like he and Arthur shared or anything)) and clicked play.

There was a small guitar lead and then the drums came, creating a beat that Gilbert couldn't help but bop along. The singer had a rough voice but Prussian listened intently. This was Matthew' music. This was the next best thing to getting to his heart besides his stomach (or maybe it was his dick second and musical preference third.)

_If there's a goal that everyone remembers_

_It was back in ol '72_

_We all squeezed the stick and we all pulled the trigger_

_And all I remember is sitting beside you_

_You said you didn't give a fuck about hockey_

_I never saw someone say that before_

_You held my hand and we walked home the long way_

_You were loosening my grip on Bobby Orr_

Before the next verse could start, Gilbert popped out the headphones, turning off the iPod, looking at Matthew. He had never expected him to listen to something so… rockish. In all honesty he was expecting some weird fusion of Swedish pop and Japanese death metal

"It reminds me of you." Matthew blurted out before Gilbert could even open his mouth to speak. "I-I mean," he fidgeted with his glasses while Gilbert doubled-checked his heart-machine to see that he was still alive and hadn't accidentally died and popped by heaven before going to hell. "The part about the hockey… I don't mean you're a girl or anything I just mean."

The singer shook his head, smiling nervously. "It's alright Mattie." He glanced down at the iPod and, in a vague attempt to start a conversation, asked, "Back in old seventy-two?"

Matthew seized gratefully on the subject. "The Summit Series." He said, to which Gilbert's nervous smile was replaced by a frown of 'I hope it looks like I know what he means because I have no goddamn idea what the hell he's talking about'. Due to Gilbert's lack of facial muscle control, he simply looked confused. "You… do know about the summit series, right?"

"No," Gilbert shook his head, done with pretending, "and I actually do give a fuck about hockey. Tell me all about it Mattie."

It was almost a full-hour before the Canadian finished his tirade about the Russia-Canada games. Gilbert was entranced with the pure unadulterated joy and passion that Matthew talked about the games with. He honestly _loved_ this game and often used it to great effect when Ivan seemed to get out of line. The mention of Henderson always quieted the Russian. During the course of his speech, Matthew somehow made it up onto Gilbert's bed, sitting on the edge.

"And then, just like that, the games were over." Matthew finished, rather lamely after his play-by-play run down of the other games. "Canada manages to win and the entire nation just _exploded_. It was awesome."

Gilbert stared at him. "That _is_ awesome." He agreed, "I didn't know hockey was so… important."

The blond smiled. "Yeah, s-some people take it very seriously. Which is probably why you're in the hospital." He looked up at Gilbert who was still frowning at Matthew, "Hey Gilbert… I'd really like to keep you on the hockey game."

There was a pressed silence in which Matthew finally came to terms with the fact that he may have liked Gilbert Beilschmidt, Gilbert finally came to terms with the fact that Matthew might actually like him despite his failure at one of the Canadian's favourite pastime and on the soap opera, the sister was finally reunited with her long-lost lover and the chaplain married them with his dying breath.

What also occurred during this silence was an almost kiss. This was mostly just to keep a romantic aspect in the story but also because Gilbert couldn't help but notice just how cute Matthew was and the Canadian realising that he was _never_ going to get a significant other in highschool if he kept up his current track-record of shoving anyone away who got within half-a-meter of him.

They both leaned forward, Gilbert's fingers coming up to touch Matthew's cheek while the blond's hands were tight in the hospital blankets. But, as it works out with every almost kiss, someone walked in or, rather, kicked open the door to the room, stormed over to Gilbert, seized the front of his hospital gown and shook him violently.

"You bloody, thick, numbskulled DUNCE!" Arthur shouted, half-throttling Gilbert, half-enjoying himself. "How did you not know!?"

Slapping the Brit away, Gilbert stared at him, chest heaving wildly, and the heart-machine beeping in sympathy, loud and piercing. "Know what!?" he demanded.

Arthur grabbed a chair, sitting down, rubbing his temples while Matthias walked in, standing behind Arthur, looking just as unimpressed. "Matthias just picked me up from work and informed me of some _very_ interesting information that he discovered while attempting to find us a bassist." He looked up at the drummer, "Tell him Matthias."

"I will Arthur, thanks." Matthias glared down at Gilbert while Matthew quickly slipped off the bed, sitting down in his chair, hiding his iPod and chemistry book back in his bag, "There are three basses at the school. One is Bernie's, the other I still don't know and can you guess who owns the third?"

"Uh…" Gilbert frowned, "I have no idea you guys, duh. That's why I asked you-"

Matthias shook his head. "It's your brother. Ludwig plays bass."

"No." Gilbert said.

"Yeah." Matthias replied.

"No way," The Prussian folded his arms over his chest, "I think I'd know if my own brother played bass.

"We thought you'd know too." Arthur said, "So Matthias asked Ludwig. He's been playing for a year now."

Gilbert frowned. "Matthew… what's the date?"

The Canadian squeaked, surprised at being addressed. "W-What?"

"What's the date?"

"What?" he glanced at his phone, "T-The s-seventh of January."

Gilbert slumped. "So it's not April Fools'…" he sighed, "Okay, so I can be a little unobservant at times…"

"Thank you captain obvious." Arthur muttered, rolling his eyes, standing up. "Come on, get your pants on, we're leaving." He and Matthias left the room while Matthew stood up slowly.

"Uh…" the blond nervously tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, "I'll… see you at practice Gilbert." And with that he slipped out of the room.

Gilbert stared at the closed door and sighed. He glanced up at the television one last time, sliding out of bed, The sister had just discovered that her long-lost lover was secretly the heir to an entire fortune and was now receiving a ring with a diamond the size of a tomato.

Way less complicated.

* * *

**Author's Note**

More information on The Summit Series, see my other fanfiction "Hockey Culture". Basically, a Canada/Russia series of eight hockey games in '72 that Canada won four games to three with one tie. Seriously some awesome stuff.

Swedish Pop/Japanese death metal = reference to Detroit Metal City, one of the most awesome mangas ever.

Song: 'Fireworks' by The Tragically Hip (they're Canadian :D)


	6. In Which Gilbert Saves the Day

_In Which Gilbert Saves the Day_

-and Arthur gets pinned to the wall-

Through one large timeskip, we find ourselves at the first game of the season, the London branch of the Academy against its Bath rivals. In all reality, the two didn't have that much of a rivalry but the hullabaloo created just so it was more dramatic and exciting made it sound like the next Cambridge/Oxford Boat Match.

Matthew, true to his word, had kept Gilbert on the team, however he was merely an extra as the entire team was already assembled. The Canadian had suggested him to be a substituted but it was the general opinion of his team that they would rather die of exhaustion than let the albino anywhere near the ice.

So there Gilbert sat on the bench, shivering slightly, clutching the hockey stick close to his chest as they drifted into the second period, still tied at 1-1 after an exceptional assist of Matthias' off a smooth pass from Berwald.

Watching, now actually a little interested in the game after a few afternoons spent with Matthew searching youtube for famous plays and moments in hockey history, Gilbert's eyes followed the puck before glancing up into the stands. A fair number of people littered the seats (considering it was local team hockey game in London, England Gilbert was surprised people had even shown up) but his eyes were drawn to the angry sandy-haired Brit in a dark military-esque coat and the tall Frenchman in a deep-navy trench coat beside him. He raised a hand with a heavy glove on it, Arthur sitting up slightly, waving back.

Somehow, the action of Gilbert's arm threw Ari's gaze off for one moment and he stumbled slightly over another player's skate, his ankle turning in a direction ankles shouldn't really turn and he fell to the ice, gripping it. The ref's whistle pierced the crowd's quiet, concerned murmurs as the rest of the team skated to the fallen player, Gilbert watching worriedly from the sidelines.

"It's my ankle…" Ari hissed out, clutching his heavy skate, eyes closed, "I'm sorry Matthew, I can't play on this." Every single head of the team turned to stare at Gilbert, who was hanging over the side of the arena, legs flailing slightly.

"We are screwed." Ivan supplied rather happily.

So Gilbert was placed on the defence line and told not to get in anyone's way. Until the end of the second period he did just that, staying close to Berwald's back and doing his best not to accidentally trip anyone. He held it together until the buzzer sounded and he skated over to the edge of the arena where Ludwig and Arthur were standing and waving him over, the Brit looking very cold and displeased while his brother was mild as ever in his sleek, black ski-jacket.

"How did I look out there?" he asked nervously.

Ludwig opened his mouth to answer but Arthur, disappointed as he was in the total dullness of the game, seized the front of Gilbert's jersey, looking at him straight in the eye. "I am ashamed to call you my friend, you call that hockey?! I call that bloody fucking curling!"

Gilbert stared. "Have you been drinking?" (while Ludwig quietly said, "Curling is a very respectable sport")

"No!" Arthur said, shifting so that the two bottles of Jägermeister he had snuck it in to share with Francis and Ludwig bumped against each other. "Okay, maybe a little."

"Arthur does have a point," Ludwig agreed while Gilbert attempted to swat at the guitarist, though his big gloves were making that tantamount to trying to catch a bouncy ball while on roller blades with a pair of ovenmitts, "you should be more into the game Gilbert, you are making a fool of the family by staying in the back."

Finally managing to force Arthur away, Gilbert shifted on the ice nervously. "I can't do anything else, I'll make Mattie angry and I don't want that to happen!" Arthur scoffed and Gilbert continued, talking over his disapproval, "I'm not letting down the family either Lud, no one fucking plays hockey, we're _Prussians_."

"Germans, you were born in-"

"Of Germanic descent!" Arthur chipped in, "Look, you're letting the _band_ down, Matthias is playing at the top of his game and you're fucking around on the ice like some namby-pamby fuckin' goose with a hockey stick!"

"You _are_ drunk." Gilbert shook his head.

Arthur scowled, but a grin quickly followed as he leaned forward, whispering into the albino's ear. "At least I've got _balls_."

There were many kinds of abuses that Gilbert could take. His hair, his eyes and even his lineage (just wait until the Prussian Empire takes over, then they'll know what the hell Prussia is). But there were three things that the Prussian wouldn't let _anyone_, not even Arthur, make fun of. One was his singing; two was his 1950, bright crimson Beetle and third was the size of his dick. Five meters.

Pulling his helmet back on, Gilbert skated back to his team just as the buzzer went, announcing the third, and final, period. Ludwig leaned over to Arthur. "You make good pep talks." He complimented.

"And you just want my liquor." Arthur said, reaching into his jacket, tossing the dark green bottle to Ludwig before rejoining Francis on the stands.

True to his word, Gilbert did start stepping out, if stepping out meant skating one pace in front of the other defenceman Li before skirting back nervously. The game still dragged on, the score tied and both teams not being able to even get close to the goals. Finally, with one minute left on the clock, Gilbert decided it was time to prove to that stupid Brit that he had balls.

Seeing his offence finally break away from the other team (besides Matthew who had been placed in the penalty box for cross-checking), Gilbert followed in quickly, abandoning his own position, speeding behind Matthias who had the puck. He reached forward, stick catching the Dane's skate, making him trip and sending him careening into one of the defencemen, the pair sliding away towards the net.

Berwald, glaring at Gilbert, tried to catch the puck but the Prussian's speediness caused him to fumbled the puck. His slapshot missed completely as he stumbled, falling over and taking Gilbert with him. They slid forward, the team's goalie currently fallen as well due to Matthias' stick catching him.

Looking up weakly, squirming under the large Swed on him, he spotted the puck a few inches from the goal. The whistle still hadn't blown and the goalie was getting to his feet, wobbling back to the set. The clock ticked down and Gilbert, a stroke of pure instinct, reached out with his stick, nudging the small rubber disk. It slipped across the line so lamely that even the light above the goal failed to light up.

And utterly shocked silence fell on the crowd until there was a single shout from the bleachers. "Oy!" Arthur yelled, on his feet, "WE WON!" and the rest of the arena exploded into cheers, people hugging each other and clapping loudly.

Gilbert couldn't stand up as he was caught in a giant hug starting by Matthew and finished by Ivan whose arms covered Matthias and Berwald, sandwiching them together. "Uh-" the Prussian squirmed, pressed to Matthew tightly, "Hi."

"Hi." Matthew said quietly, squeezing him tighter, grinning widely and Gilbert couldn't help but return it because it wasn't Alfred smile, it was Matthew's.

* * *

After initial celebrations, Arthur found himself in the lobby of the arena centre, keys in his hands as he waited for Matthew (he has promised to give him a ride back, not trusting Gilbert or any of the other team members.) Most of the other spectators had left and only a janitor occupied, slowly sweeping up. So when Arthur felt a tap on his shoulder, he jumped a foot into the air, cursing loudly.

He looked around; Francis was smiling at him, offering a bag of chips. "'ere." He said, moving to stand in front of him.

"Crisps?" Arthur took the bag, blinking at the Frenchman, still a little tipsy on his feet. He swallowed, now he had to ask about the kiss they had shared. He had to know if it all just a drunken mistake, "Francis, I wanted to ask you… about the night we had our first show. Y-You kissed me and I was wondering if you were just drunk or what-"

But he was cut off as the Frenchman kissed him, backing him against the wall. The Brit stared as Francis grinned against his mouth; teeth teasing the bottom lip one while his hips teased Arthur's for a brief moment. Turning his head to the side after initial shock, Arthur glared up at Francis. "What was that for!?" he demanded, cheeks pink, hands clutched around the bag. "And that's not an answer!"

Francis' hand was on the wall above his head, curled into a fist as he smiled down, posture curved down over Arthur. "For inviting me." He said simply, "It was better than 'aving to work and I do like spending time with you."

Before Arthur could bow his head and try to hide his burning face, Francis kissed him again. "Y-You're a bastard…" he muttered, eyes half-closing as Francis moved against him more insistently, "And you're drunk, I can taste-" the words were muffled by lips against his and the hand on his hip.

Just as Arthur parted his lips, the chef stepped away, fixing his collar and tightening the belt around his coat. "Adieu~" the Frenchman walked away, humming to himself. Watching him go, Arthur shook his head, rubbing his cheek, trying to rub the redness away.

In an attempt to distract himself from the situation that had just occurred, Arthur looked down at the bag and read the label carefully, his blush turning an admirable shade of puce. "I'm going to kill you, you frog bastard." He muttered, clutching them close to his chest, closing his eyes and slumping against the wall slightly.

The flavour was creamy dill.

* * *

**Epilogue**

_In Which Gilbert Gets Lucky_

-and things finally turn out-

It was the Monday after the big game. School had finished and the halls lay mostly empty as the students returned to dorms, delighted in extracurricular or went to town to avoid doing the homework Professor Annan had assigned. The music room, however, had one person occupying it.

Gilbert was sitting on the floor, a guitar in his lap and a pencil behind his ear as he peered broodingly at a pad of paper. At the top of the paper read the title **Google Gay** and below it was a mess of scribbles. His tongue was stuck out in concentration. "_Are you feeling lucky_…" he hummed under his breath, frowning hard at the paper that was covered with scrawled words and cross outs. "Shit, what comes next…"

There was a knock from the door and he looked up. Matthew peered inside, nervously tucking his hair behind his ear. "Oh, Arthur s-said you were in here." He slowly slipped into the bandroom, shutting the door behind him. "I just wanted to thank you again… we couldn't have won without you."

"Oh, it's no problem." Gilbert said, waving a hand, glad now that he could look Matthew in the eye without feeling like a complete idiot. "I hope Ari's foot is better…"

Rubbing his arm nervously, Matthew nodded. "He's going to be fine. He'll be walking by next week. You know we're going to Kent for another game.

The Prussian smiled. "That's good to hear." He glanced up at the blond, swallowing and rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I hope… you don't mind, but I think I'm going to quit the team."

To his surprise, Matthew's face fell. "O-Oh, why eh?" he asked, Gilbert holding back the squeal at the sound of the 'eh', "You're getting really good Gilbert." His hands where playing inside the large school sweater.

"Nah," Gilbert shook his head, leaning back on his hands, trying to look everywhere but at Matthew (he knew if he even glanced at those doe eyes he'd be playing hockey for a very long time), "it's not really my game, but I had fun and I'll totally come to all your games Mattie, hockey's really awesome!"

Smiling slightly, Matthew pushed his glasses up his nose. "You called me Mattie…" he remarked, and waited for Gilbert to response, but the Prussian had nothing. He had probably offended the Canadian to all-hell and was about to receive a slap to the face- "What are you writing?"

Picking up the pad of paper, Gilbert coughed slightly, pushing it aside so that the Canadian couldn't see it. "Oh, just a song, Arthur wants us to start some original music so I'm working on-" he paused as Matthew, with unexpected speed, hopped over Gilbert and snatched up the pad, reading it while the albino attempted to figure out what the hell had just happened.

"Mattie!" Gilbert got to his feet, trying to take the pad back, "Give it here you little monster, it's not finished yet!"

The Canadian kept it just out of reached, chuckling as the pale arms flailed on their side of him. "I'll give it back if you sing it to m-me."

Gilbert sighed, snatching the pad and sitting down. "Fine, but only 'cause you're cute." He was so focused on the pad and tuning his guitar, Gilbert didn't notice the way Matthew flushed before sitting down in front of him, legs cross and hands in his lap, leaning towards the Prussian.

Clearing his throat Gilbert took a deep breath. Normally he wasn't this nervous but performing in what had been a possibility for a future significant other had butterflies in his stomach. He strummed the guitar, starting a quiet and slight "_Are you feeling lucky? _

_Are you still searching?_

_Or did you really mean, that you're just lost?_

_Don't worry 'cause I'll search every video_

_I'll check every mail and news station_

_Just as long as you stay right here_

_And be lucky with me_."

He strummed a last chord, looking up at Matthew and smiling awkwardly. "So yeah, it's not finished for anything but-" Gilbert barely had time to blink before Matthew had pressed his lips to his briefly, the sweater rubbing against the strings of the guitar. "What the…"

"Sorry!" Matthew said quickly, standing up, covering his face. "I-I don't know what came over me, I-I just had to…"

Standing up, Gilbert swung the guitar around his back, seizing the front of the Canadian's sweater and kissing him back. "Okay, here's the deal," he said, pulling back, grinning a Matthew's blushing face, "I think you're cute and we should date, and I only joined the hockey team so I could spend time with you."

Matthew had enough wit left in him to say. "How teen-cliché of you."

"I know I know." Gilbert said, "But it worked out!" he kissed Matthew again, fully expecting to taste maple syrup, snow and polar bears but instead was disappointed by chapstick. Pulling back, he kept his lips to the Canadian's, enjoying the blush on his keeps far too much.

"Matthew?" he asked.

"Yeah Gilbert?"

"How do you like the sound of Matthew Beilchmidt?"

"Not as much as I like the sound of Gilbert Williams."

"Damn."

Continued in:

_Memoirs of a German Dungeon Master · Memoirs of a Canadian Filmmaker · Memoirs of a Latvian Running Back_

* * *

**Author's Note**

ARG, it's over~ Next one is probably going to be a Ludwig-centric one.


End file.
